Grandmother Clause (excerpt)
Gary
McCormick rapped a jaunty tattoo on the front door of a neat brownstone in Manhattan’s
upper West Side. He whistled absently
as he slipped his sunglasses into the pocket of his jacket, glancing around
him as he waited for an answer. The old neighborhood hadn’t changed much…he waved at a passerby
whom he recognized. The man smiled
and waved back. Yep, Mac thought,
he’d had it good here, and he hadn’t even realized it at the time….
He
heard footsteps inside the house, and hid his hands behind his back, grinning
in anticipation. A small woman
in her mid-sixties opened the door with a pleasant, "Yes?"
Although Mac called Meredith McCormick “Gramma,” it was a purely honorary
title. Her son and daughter-in-law
had adopted the boy when he was ten—much to Meredith’s original dismay.
However, Mac’s natural charm and exuberance had won her heart in days,
and no one was closer to the flamboyant reporter.
Mac
looked down at the woman fondly.
Bright turquoise combs pulled her silver hair back softly from her face
in gentle waves. Her dark
eyes lit up instantly at the sight of her “grandson.”
“Gary! When did you get
back into town?”
“Just
now, sweetheart…you’re my second stop.”
“Second?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Since when did I get relegated to second-best?”
“Well,
you see…I had to stop and pick up these—”
He made a great show of presenting her with a huge bouquet of red roses
he had been hiding behind his back.
“Oh,
Gary…you didn’t—”
“—have
to do that,” Mac finished for her. “I
know, Gramma. I wanted to. Here,
I also brought you something from sunny Madrid, where it rained five out of
the seven days I was there!” He
flourished his other hand, in which lay a heavy tortoiseshell comb inlaid with
silver.
“It’s
lovely,” she breathed.
“And
now that my hands are free, I can do what I’ve been standing here dyin’ to do
ever since the gorgeous lady of the house opened the door!” he cried, picking
her up and swinging her around in a crushing bear hug.
“Gary!
Stop it! You’re making my
head spin!” Meredith laughed, trying to catch her breath.
Mac set her down gently, with a kiss on her cheek.
“Gramma,
have you lost weight?” he asked critically.
She felt like gossamer in his hands, and there were purple tints to the
skin under her eyes.
“Heavens,
no! What makes you say that…?”
She dipped her head into the roses.
“These smell absolutely heavenly, darling.
I’d better get them into some water….”
Mac’s
eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He
was an expert at the quick subject change—after all, as a journalist, it was
how he made his living—he’d let her get away with it for now…but not for long.
* *
*
Mac
set his cup back on the table in front of him.
“No, no more. Honest, Gramma—I
couldn’t eat another bite. Really,
that was terrific.” He leaned back
in his chair, drawing a reproving look from Meredith.
He thumped the chair back to the floor with a guilty chuckle.
“Old habits die hard, don’t they?”